


Always with You

by QuickLikeLight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bondage, Daddy Kink, Knotting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Season/Series 04, Spanking, Under-negotiated Kink, authority kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 18:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2398022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickLikeLight/pseuds/QuickLikeLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dad, is that you? You gonna let me out now?"</p><p>"I don't know, Stiles. Do you think you've learned your lesson?"</p><p>Well. That is definitely not the Sheriff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always with You

**Author's Note:**

> I owe any success of this to the help of my fantastic beta, [Maya](http://whatthehalefire.tumblr.com), and the support of the fantastic writers in the Root Cellar writing chat. As always, [Essbee](http://get-stiles.tumblr.com) and [Kate](http://pictures-to-prove-it.tumblr.com) are the best cheerleaders / alpha readers that anyone could have. All these ladies are fantastic writers themselves, so please check out their stories as well. 
> 
> This story takes place immediately after the end of the Season 4 finale. Everything happened as it has in canon, except neither Stiles nor Scott are in relationships. I tagged as appropriately as I could. The BDSM elements in this fic are, to my knowledge, very mild, but they are unnegotiated and while everyone is consenting, that could be triggering to some readers. You know yourself. Please be safe.

"Daddy?" Stiles asks, hearing the door to the station shut. His father's left him handcuffed to the goddamn desk all night. His wrist is sore, his arm hurts from where he's had it propped up for hours, his ass is numb from cold tile. He wants to go home. "Dad, is that you? You gonna let me out now?"

"I don't know, Stiles. Do you think you've learned your lesson?"

Well. That is definitely not the Sheriff.

"Scotty?" he asks, quiver in his voice.

"Why are you still here, Stiles?" Scott asks, moving slowly into the Sheriff's office. Scott shuts the blinds, closes the door behind him with a resounding thump. Stiles wriggles his wrist, making the handcuffs clink.

"My dad cuffed me to the desk," he points out, as if Scott can't see his hand hanging from the cuff, elbow propped on his knee.

"Why would he do that?" Scott's voice is strangely level as he walks around the room, never facing Stiles straight on. Stiles frowns.

"You know why. I went to Mexico, looking for you. Listen, you probably shouldn't break them but could you look for the key maybe? My wrist hurts and -"

"I'm not letting you out," Scott growls. When Stiles looks up at him, mouth agape, Scott's eyes flash red. Stiles scrambles to his feet, lifting his free hand up in surrender.

"Scotty, buddy, I - did I - why are you -" he stumbles, trying to work his brain around the way Scott's body uncoils as he stalks toward the desk, slow and sure. He is predatory grace covered in dark skin and a black tank top. Stiles' mouth waters.

"You disobeyed me, Stiles," Scott says, voice dark. Stiles starts to guffaw, to pull back and smart off, but Scott catches him by the shoulder and bends him back, back, over the desk, until he's pinned in an awkward stretch that makes his muscles scream and his mouth slack. Scott holds him there, body pressed against his in an obscene display. Stiles wonders hysterically if he thought to lock the door.

"I’m your Alpha. You have to listen to my orders, wolf or not. I told you before I left to study with Kira to keep an eye on Liam and Lydia. Lydia was here in Beacon Hills, alone. You should have stayed with her."

"You can't be - you're not serious, right?" Stiles pops back. "They were going to kill you, Scott. Peter and Kate. They were going to make you a murderer, and then they were going to kill you!"

"It could have been you," Scott grinds down with his arm on Stiles' shoulder, pinning him harder, making him squirm. "I could have killed _you_. Do you understand that? Because you wouldn’t just listen to me, for once in your amazingly stubborn life, you could have died, and I would have been responsible. Do you know what that would have done to me?"

"Scotty - I -" Stiles whimpers at the pain in his shoulder, in his chest, the lump in his throat.

"You don’t get to call me that tonight." Scott’s face is hard, tough in a way Stiles’ isn’t, ever, in a way that looks strange on that lopsided jaw he loves so well. He swallows hard, willing down his impatience, his desire to win, and tries to think like Scott instead. If he was Scott, he would feel…

Protective. Scared. Disrespected.

“What do you want me to call you?” Stiles bares his throat slightly, a subtle enough movement that Scott might not notice, but the Alpha will. He’s rewarded by a low-pitched growl, a rumbling thing that makes his balls draw up and his mouth dry out.

“Alpha. _Sir_. You can pick. Just not… that,” Scott orders, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. Stiles nods, mind racing. This thing that’s happening isn’t the easy comfort of their occasional hook-ups. They've done that before, more than once, and it’s always been comfortable, even when it’s tinged with this desperate want that they can’t quite get the hang of, best friends and brothers, Alpha and Human, and _something else_. But it’s not like this, not ever. Not with Scott angry and harsh. It makes Stiles' blood run too hot under his skin.

“Are you going to punish me, sir?” Stiles asks, dragging his tongue over his lips. It feels a bit strange, calling Scott sir when they both know he’s older by two months, but Stiles sloughs it off. If nothing else, Scott earned himself some extra years in the last twenty four hours. That would explain the dark circles under his eyes, anyway.

“I don’t want to punish you,” Scott says, and Stiles believes him. The gruff façade slips off for a moment and it’s just Scott standing in front of him, tired and worn and hurting. “But I have to do something. You understand, don’t you Stiles? If I don’t – I just, I have to.”

“Whatever you need, Alpha.” Stiles shuffles, unsure if he should stand or if that will aggravate the wolf further. He pushes up on his hands, fingers curled around the edge of the desk, and a growl sticks in Scott’s throat. “Ahhh, okay. Not that then. What do you want me to do?”

“Turn over.”

Stiles scrambles to get his feet under him, mouth hot and dry at the sound of Scott's Alpha voice, the knowledge of what's to come... the expectation of the unexpected.

"Safeword?" Scott asks, as Stiles flips onto his stomach over the desk. His arm is trapped underneath him, uncomfortable. He lets himself settle into the burning stretch of it, widening his stance and dropping his forehead to a stack of file folders. He doesn't think about what his dad would say if he could see this.

“Don’t need ‘em.”

A sharp claw pokes at his side, not digging into the flesh, but just barely.

“ _Safeword_ , Stiles.”

“Scott, I trust you-”

The sting of the small, shallow cut is nothing compared to the roaring wave of desire building in his gut. When Scott asks again, “Safeword?,” he just replies, "Stoplights."

It’s fitting, them being in the Sheriff’s office and all.

“Where are we starting?” Scott asks, smoothing his hands over Stiles’ back in a way that should be comforting, not arousing. Should be.

“Green,” Stiles answers, breath already coming in strained pants because of the way his arm pulls across his chest.

“Green, _what_?” Scott grabs a handful of his hair, turning his head and pulling him up a bit to re-settle him further over, easing the pressure on his lungs.

“Green, _sir_.”

Scott's hands are rough and hot and too much. Scott rips his khakis off his hips, easily tearing the button and zipper instead of just unfastening them. Stiles grunts in annoyance.

"Dude, those were new -" he starts, before a sharp slap to his boxer clad ass cuts him off.

"Holy shi-" he breathes, before Scott's hand hits his ass again.

"Language, Stiles," Scott corrects him, the perfect imitation of a disappointed father. Stiles freezes as Scott rubs the stinging skin with his open hand, dragging the points of his claws across the tight knit of Stiles' boxers. The cotton chafes his skin, makes the burn ache, and he wants them off so badly it hurts. He whimpers.

“Take ‘em off, Scott,” he grits out, voice cracking. Scott continues to just rub, making the ache settle deep in the muscle.

“What do you say when you want something, Stiles?”

Stiles draws up blank. “Um. I… ask for it?”

“How do you ask?” Scott sounds… patient. Like he’s correcting a naughty child, not the best friend he occasionally fucks. Something in Stiles’ gut spikes white hot at the thought, and he bites back on a moan as he begs, “Please. Please Alpha, take them off of me. Please?”

He should have known Scott would tear them.

“If you want me to say thank you for letting you rip my underwear in two, you’re going to be sorely disappointed,” Stiles grumbles, shaking the remnants of fabric off of his legs.

“I don’t think I’m the one that’s going to be sore, Stiles.” Scott slaps his ass again, and the sound of flesh smacking against flesh makes him flinch. “Color?”

“Ah, green,” Stiles grits out, rubbing his forehead against the stack of files.

“Count for me.” Scott’s hand lands hard on his ass, a stinging copy of fingerprints he knows as well as his own.

“One,” spills out of his mouth before he’s even aware he’s saying it. “Two” and “Three” follow similarly, but “Four” gets stuck on his tongue, too fat and heavy to push out around the whimper of pain at the hard, rough drag of Scott’s palm over his flesh after each swat. “Five” is a mess. He’s a mess, aching and leaking and trying to rut back into Scott’s hand.

“Seeesh,” he spills, eyes crossing with the sting of the sixth smack, hard and perfect and awful on skin he knows is already strawberry-stained.

“That didn’t sound like a number to me, Stiles,” Scott rumbles, and it makes Stiles’ heart speed up, thumping loud and fast against the cage of his ribs.

“Six, six, I meant six, sir,” he corrects, twisting his head to the side so he can stretch out his neck, show off his throat. Scott smacks him again, harder.

“I know what you’re doing. I’m not getting distracted by that fake submission headgame you’re trying to play.” Scott’s hand presses into his skin, rubbing the sore heat of it into his muscles and bones, making his eyes tear up. “I don’t need some big display, Stiles. I just need you to do what I ask, to keep you safe.”

“Seems like you sort of do need a display, dude,” Stiles works out through his teeth, ass and face both burning.

“Stiles.” Scott stills behind him, in the way that storms still before they wreak havoc over unsuspecting villages. He says again, “Stiles.” As if that should mean anything.

“Scott,” Stiles says back, craning his neck to catch sight of the wolf. Scott’s eyes glow red, and his fangs have slipped down, cutting little into his pouty mouth as he grits his teeth. Stiles wants to _lick_ it.

The blows come in quick succession then, faster than Stiles can count. Scott’s palm blisters the skin of his ass, over and over until the sting stops fading between swats, mounting into a roiling wave of heat and shame and _want_. A moan spills out of his mouth before he can stop it, and Scott grips his sore, reddened flesh, rolling it in his hands.

“Are you enjoying this, son?” he asks, pinching hot skin between his fingers. Stiles squirms against the desk, unsure if he’s moving away from Scott or toward him. It doesn’t matter. Scott’s legs are on either side of his own, trapping him between the jut of Scott’s hips and the hard edge of the desk. His cock is mostly hard, hanging between his legs, pressing against cold wood. He’s not sure if Scott meant for it to go this way, if he meant for Stiles to be so turned on by the abrupt abuse, but there’s not much he can do about it now.

Well, not much he can do to stop it. There are things he can do to help push it along. He arches back, pushing his ass further into Scott’s grasping hands, and when he feels the prick of claws, he frees the words caught behind his teeth.

“C’mon _Daddy_ , fuck me, please -”

Scott is on him before he can finish getting the words out. He pins Stiles down by the nape of his neck with one clawed hand, pushing until he has to turn his face, put his cheek on the cold wood. Scott rucks up his shirt, pushing at it until it bunches under his armpits, and drags his claws down Stiles’ back. He doesn’t break the skin, but it doesn’t really matter. By the time he drags them down over the hot red curve of Stiles’ ass, the lines of fire he leaves in his wake make Stiles’ knees give out.

“Can’t - ugh, sir, I can’t -” he sobs, squirming uselessly between Scott’s hand and the desk.

“Color, Stiles?” Scott’s voice is so calm, so placid, as if he isn’t drawing slow, torturous circles in Stiles’ skin with a single claw.

“Ugh, Jesus, green. So much green. Come _on_.” Stiles hears a quiet _snick_ behind him, and suddenly something shockingly cold is pouring out over his skin.

“Shit, shit,” he pants, struggling against Scott’s hold. It doesn’t matter; his Alpha’s hand is back on his neck immediately, and Scott has him pinned good. “Scott, it’s cold!”

“Is it? I’m sorry,” Scott says, smearing the lube over the flaming skin of Stiles’ asscheeks. “I figured you’d appreciate some relief. If not…” Scott spreads his cheeks with one hand and smacks, hard, over his hole with the other. The air rushes out of Stiles’ lungs at the shock, and his face flushes brilliantly as he sputters, “ _Jesus,_ shit - fuck, Scott - !”

“Oh, did you not enjoy that one?” he asks, and does it again, smacking so hard that white spots dance in front of Stiles’ eyes.

“ _Yellow_ ,” Stiles grits out, body tensed and waiting for the backlash. It doesn’t come. Instead, Scott’s hands turn soft, smooth and gentle on his skin, caressing light trails over his body.

“Okay baby?” Scott asks, voice still deep with lust but also cut with concern. “Need me to stop?”

“No, I – don’t –” Stiles’ throat works but no sound comes out. He tries again. “It was just –”

“Too much?” Scott asks, and Stiles nods, grateful he doesn’t have to actually say it. Scott tugs at his shoulder, rubbing the tensed muscles there soft and easy. “You’re doing so well, Stiles. You’ve been good for me. I just need you to keep being good for me, okay? Can you do that?”

The words should feel trite, worthless as he resettles over the desk, stretching his legs and clenching his fingers. Scott is the good one, not Stiles, and sometimes they both wish it was the other way around but it isn’t – _he isn’t_.

He wants to be though. Christ, he wants to be, for Scott, for his dad, for himself. He wants to be the hero, the one to save the day, but if he can’t, he’d settle for good. For something other than spastic and hyper-focused with a particularly gray moral code. For something worthy of Scott.

“Stiles, you’re so good for me. You really are. I know you don’t feel it, but I do. Let me take care of us. You just keep being good for me, okay?”

Stiles nods, head working automatically on his neck as Scott spreads him again, slipping a thumb insistently against his hole. He arches and ruts, searching for the point of entry, but Scott pulls away, keeps simply caressing him instead.

“Something wrong?” he asks, slipping his thumb over the furl of Stiles’ hole over and over, never dipping in. Stiles huffs, arching his back to get it deeper, skin still stinging and body aching for that intrusion.

“Only that you aren’t in me yet,” Stiles growls, shifting back on Scott’s hand. Scott pulls back, and then he’s full, two fingers and stretched wide, fast, and pounding his face against the desk. “Scott- ugh, fuck, _sir_ , please!”

The prep is brusque, efficient in a way that Scott is usually not. Scott likes to take his time, to eat Stiles out until he sobs and finger him to the point of madness, to live in his mouth and his ass and on his cock until neither of them can remember their own names. This is not that. This is Scott barely making way for himself before the head of his cock is heavy and hot against Stiles’ hole, pushing in and opening him with a loud groan.

“Who’s my good boy?” Scott asks, and Stiles would laugh, he would, but it sends fire up his spine, competing with the sharp ache of Scott’s cock splitting him in half. Stiles tries to relax, to breathe through it despite the aching burn of his hole. Scott doesn’t give him time to adjust, though, just pushes in to the hilt and then pulls back out just as quickly, all the way so he’s left empty and wanting on the desk.

“Sco- _Daddy_ ,” he begs, not knowing what he’s begging for. This rough treatment, so unlike Scott, sets his nerve endings on fire, makes him want to squirm and mount and fuck like animals. When Scott pushes in again, hard and fast, little hurt noises fall out of his mouth. He doesn’t try to catch them, just squeezes his eyes shut and goes up on his tip toes, trying to gain some leverage so he can push back, get himself further onto Scott’s dick.

“You want this so bad, don’t you?” Scott asks, voice gruff and choked as he slams into Stiles over and over, slow and hard and perfect. “You need me like this, pushing you. Make you feel it, so you can feel like it’s over. Consequences. Isn’t that right?”

Scott’s claws dig into his hips, pull him back rough and pin him down. Stiles nods.

He’s not sure if Scott’s right, actually; he doesn’t feel guilty for going, not at all. But he does need… something. And maybe it’s this. Or maybe it’s just Scott.

“Always need you,” he breathes, pushing back and arching into Scott’s hips, his hands. Scott stops thrusting abruptly, body flush to Stiles’, and Stiles whines, wriggling against the cup of his pelvis. “Please, Scotty, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“I need you too,” Scott says, and it’s soft, so soft, like maybe he’s the one being punished. For a moment, neither of them breathe. It’s just long, drawn out and awful between them as Scott sags down, covering Stiles’ body with his own. “I always need you too,” he says, snuffling at the back of Stiles’ ear. Stiles wishes he could reach up to curl his fingers in Scott’s hair, to pet his face and comfort his Alpha. He struggles, tries, but his right hand is stuck tight with the handcuff, and the left can’t reach. Then, with a whoosh, Scott is off, out of him, and Stiles is being flipped onto his back on the desk, hips and ass hanging off of the ledge of it and legs sprawling haphazardly.

“Scotty, wha-?” he gets out, before Scott is over him, kissing him with fierce determination. This time when Scott enters, it’s a firm thrust, but it’s slow, almost gentle, and hits just right, making Stiles’ knees turn to water. Scott hikes Stiles’ legs up, letting them rest in the cradles of his elbows as he bends to suck long kisses at Stiles’ nipples and collarbone. With one hand free, Stiles can tangle his fingers in Scott’s hair, run the length of them over his Alpha’s jaw, caress that pouty mouth.

“Color?” Scott mumbles, mouth full of Stiles’ skin as he thrusts in and out, smooth and steady. It takes a minute for Stiles to even realize what he’s saying, long enough that Scott stops mid-thrust, looks up at him with big, dark, wide eyes.

“Green, green,” Stiles assures him, pulling Scott’s face to his own. The kiss is almost languid, even as the heat between them builds again. Scott’s mouth is familiar, comforting and hot as he drags his tongue around Stiles’ mouth, licking into him with ease. Scott’s hips slap against the tender skin of his ass, not hard, but hard enough to remind him of the control he doesn’t have in this situation, of the control he rarely has over anything. It isn’t scary here, with Scott. It’s just… right. “C’mon Scotty, fuck me, fuck me hard. I know you want to. S’okay. I want it too.”

“How much?” Scott asks, nipping at his lips. Stiles grins.

“Want it so bad. Need your knot, Scotty.”

Scott doesn’t howl, but it’s a near thing. His claws dig into the desk over Stiles’ shoulders, and his hips crash haphazardly into Stiles’. His cock plows into Stiles over and over, fast and hard, but without the anger. He’s just desperate. They both are. Stiles wraps his legs around Scott’s waist, pulling him closer, tighter. His own dick rubs against Scott’s abs, head drooling precome all over Scott’s warm skin, and he knows it won’t take much to get there, just the barest pull would send him over the edge. He doesn’t reach down and take himself in hand, though; this is about Scott, it’s always been about Scott, and he’ll come when Scott wants him to.

Or when the knot pops, which is going to be soon, from the look on Scott’s face.

“Give it to me, Scotty. Let go for me. Want you so bad. Always want you, only you,” he chants, free hand roaming across Scott’s warm, brown skin.

“Gonna - gonna,” Scott pants, and Stiles can feel it, Scott’s cock swelling as he pushes it inside over and over, making new space for himself in Stiles’ body.

“Need me to call you daddy again?” Stiles teases, squeezing around him. Scott shudders, though, and shakes his head.

“Just us, okay? Just this, just us,” he says, dropping his forehead to Stiles’ chest. “I just… always need it to be us.”

“Me too, Scotty,” Stiles nods, clinging to the nape of Scott’s neck. It’s more honest than he means for it to be, than he wants it to be, but then, neither of them are casual. It makes sense that in these frantic moments, the truth spills out. He pushes it aside, focuses on the knot in his ass rather than the one in his chest. It swells, catches on the rim before Scott pushes it in one last time and pulses inside of him, filling him up. The sounds that fall out of Scott’s mouth are too loud to go unnoticed in the station, but not loud enough to cover Stiles’ desperate babble.

“That’s it, Scotty, knot for me, give it to me, that’s right, want it so bad, want you so bad, all the time, oh fuck, fuck, Christ, Scott - please - just -” He feels desperate with it, the swell an aching burn that builds and builds, electricity lacing through him until he’s tripping along the edge of pleasure and pain, ready to fall on either side at any second. Scott’s hand finds him, wraps around his dick and strokes in that sure, quick way Scott knows he likes, has known he likes since they were old enough to _like_ , and it pushes him over the edge, sending him careening through orgasmic high. Scott fucks him through it, rabbiting into him with short, fast thrusts that keep him going long after he should be spent, until he’s shaking with it, limbs trembling and fingers clenching on air while the knot drags inside him.

“So good,” Scott groans, petting his face, kissing his cheeks and chin and nose, peppering his jaw with hot, open mouthed caresses that settle something in him he hadn’t even known was unsettled. “So good for me. Feel so good, always. Want to just be in you always. With you, in you, all the time.”

Stiles knows, intellectually, he should stop Scott now. He should kiss him and let him go, back to being best friend and Alpha and nothing else, before the line is truly crossed. Instead, he pulls him closer, catches Scott’s mouth with his own.

“So stay,” he says, squeezing around the knot and making Scott’s breath stutter out. “Stay, and then I won’t have to chase you down again.” Scott pulls back, resting on his forearms and sterning up his face even as his hips flex and push in minute little thrusts, keeping him buried tight inside of Stiles.

“S’not funny, Stiles,” he says, brow furrowing. “I was scared. I hurt you. I could have -”

“You could have. But you didn’t. We’re alive, and we’re safe, and we’re together. And that’s how it’s supposed to be, isn’t it?”

Scott pauses, blinking as he processes Stiles’ argument, fighting and failing against the waves of bliss still rolling over him. “You’re not even sorry, are you?”

 “I can’t be. I won’t be. I’ll never be sorry for things that bring you back to me, and you can’t ask me to be.”

“But -”

“If I had been taken, would you have stayed here?”

“No,” Scott shakes his head, and Stiles knows he’s won. “The entire Sheriff’s department couldn’t keep me away.”

“Exactly,” Stiles nods, kissing that earnest face. He hears a muffled cough from the other side of the office door and freezes. “And, ah… speaking of the Sheriff’s department…”

“It’s Parrish,” Scott says, grimacing. Stiles blanches, but Scott hurries to say, “Better him than, well, your dad. I don’t think any of the other deputies would have been quite as understanding.”

“Oh, God, so he knew we were in here, um, doing -?”

“Stiles. Everybody knew.”

“Shit. Okay. Okay. Wait. Everybody? So, my dad?”

“May have told me where to find you,” Scott nods, chewing his lip. “And offered me a condom. Apparently he hasn’t gotten the No Werewolf STDs memo yet.” Stiles slaps his free hand over his face, but nods anyway.

“Okay. That’s okay. He probably expected something anyway, I guess.”

“He’s a pretty smart guy, Stiles, but even if he wasn’t… pretty much everybody realized it when you started getting laid regularly.” Scott’s smile is half apologetic, half smug self-assurance, and all adorable. It’s maddening. Stiles wriggles around underneath him, still tied tightly together, willing the small anxiety in his gut to uncoil. It’s not a problem, him and Scott. People know. And even if no one else did, he and Scott know, and there’s no going back from that. He stops, eyes darting to the desk drawer and then back at his cuffed wrist.

“So. Wait. If my dad told you where to find me, then…”

“He made me promise to keep you cuffed until breakfast.” Stiles can feel his face fall, but Scott kisses him again, comforting. “It’s okay. I’ll stay with you, if you want.” Scott’s ears are pink, and the flush on his face makes Stiles’ stomach twist, butterfly-heavy, even knowing Parrish is yards away, _listening_. Oh, God -

“Do you think he heard me call you daddy?”

Scott frowns, a deep, regretful thing. “Let’s hope no one ever, ever finds out.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Your feedback is valuable to all fic writers, and I'm no exception. If you enjoyed this story, please let me know.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://quicklikelight.tumblr.com).


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